slowly but surely
by Ariel32
Summary: Daniel and Henley. The before, and the after.


I intend for this to be a two-parter (or maybe three-parter...we'll see.) Thoughts are appreciated!

* * *

slowly but surely

part one

1.

It's funny because the first time they meet is at a bar, and it's not even a good one – it's a funky, noisy, dinked up little place, tucked into a corner alley in the great maze of New York City. The music isn't good. The drinks are just mediocre.

Henley is the one who makes the first move. She spots him through the gaps between stray elbows and shoulders, cards slipping through his clever fingers like a trail of fine sand. In the dim lighting of the bar he's a little washed out. He scores the digits of two brunettes for his efforts, though – a player through and through.

She approaches as soon as the brunettes leave.

"So," she says, leaning up against the bar so her hair falls over her shoulder in the way that draws attention to the curve of her neck, "you like card tricks?" (She's nothing if not clever.)

He turns to look at her, surprise registering minimally on his face before he checks himself. His eyes dart to her chest briefly before his gaze sweeps up to her face. His hair is a little disheveled and his cheeks are slightly flushed, but he still has enough nerve to look her right in the eye.

"I'm sorry, I'm going to have to correct you," he says.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. These aren't just card tricks." He's playing with his deck. His fingers are nimble, like a thief's; but when she looks back up at him she notices that he is ignoring the cards and watching her with singular intensity.

She cocks an eyebrow, takes the bait. "Then what are they?"

"Magic."

Henley feels a tingle start in the base of her spine. She flips her hair over her shoulder and leans in, so close she can smell the faint tinges of his aftershave. He stills when her lips brush the shell of his ear.

"Show me," she says, and there's a challenge in her voice.

And so he does.

2.

He doesn't teach her everything.

The truth is, Henley already knows a bit of magic on her own – things she picked up from her parents, when she was still living at home – things she has learnt from watching others. But Danny is good, easily the best of anyone she's met so far, and it's exciting to be reminded that there is a whole world of magic out there she still doesn't know about.

He teaches her minor tricks at first. Nearly all of them are card tricks, which he has a particular affinity for. She masters each and every one without difficulty or hesitation, adding touches of her own here and there, but he doesn't teach her anything worth _knowing_, really – not anything that really challenges or confuses or excites her – and it doesn't take long before Henley begins to get impatient. Finally, when she can't stand it anymore, she makes up a trick of her own, more difficult than any he has ever taught her. She performs it on him brilliantly. He sputters when she is finished, clearly at loss for how the tables have turned.

"Did you learn that from someone?" he demands.

"Sure." Her smile is impish. "From you."

"That is not one of mine."

"No, but it was inspired by you." Henley pretends to consider. "I thought, what could I do to make Danny's tricks better? And this is what I came up with."

He narrows his eyes at her. "Funny."

But the next day he comes up with a trick that outdoes hers. He refuses to divulge the secret of its execution, smirking instead in that infuriatingly knowing way he has, and she spends the whole day trying and rejecting different scenarios in her head.

She finally figures it out sometime after midnight. She calls him up just to gloat. "I got it," she tells him, not bothering to hide the note of smugness in her voice. "You're pretty clever Danny, but you can't outsmart me forever."

"Go to sleep," he snaps, and hangs up.

It doesn't seem like much of a promising start. In fact, it doesn't seem like much of a start at all.

But it's the beginning of their partnership.

3.

They always get separate rooms at hotels. They don't do that much traveling – he has a loyal fan base in the city – but they do hit up some major metropolis areas: Boston, D.C., Atlantic City. They stick mainly to the East coast.

Danny's show is a rousing success. He's the perfect blend of cocky and clever, and the just-nerdy-enough-to-be-smooth type of attractive. He comes home with girls almost every night, blondes and brunettes of his picking. Henley has pounded on his door more than one the morning, yelling at him to hurry up or they're going to miss their flight – only for Danny step out, bags in hand, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, the bare back of some sleeping girl visible in the bed behind him.

Henley perfects the art of rolling her eyes.

It's Danny, though, and she has long learned not to underestimate him. He might look like he just woke up from a rumpled night of sex when he steps out of his room, but he always looks impeccable by the time their taxi rolls up to the airport. Henley doesn't know how he does it, even when she watches him every time. He smooths out his hair, does up his buttons. Puts on a jacket. And voila, there he is: immaculate as always.

(It helps that he is a neat freak and hangs up all his shirts so they don't wrinkle. His clothes are always pressed and creased in all the right places. It's hard to look messy when there's not a thread out of place.)

That's why she is surprised when someone knocks on her door the morning after their second show in Boston, and she opens it to find Danny.

"This is new," she says with raised eyebrows.

He strides into her room without invitation. He's carrying two cups of steaming coffee, which reminds Henley that he can be strangely thoughtful when he's not preoccupied with lesser things. She shuts the door behind him. When she turns, he is doing a quick (and, to anyone else, inconspicuous) rake of the room with his eyes. There's not much to see; Henley's suitcase is open in the corner and there are a few stray items on her bedside table, but otherwise the room is bare.

"Well, last night didn't exactly go as planned," he says.

Henley takes a cup of coffee from him. "What happened to the girl in the black dress? I thought she was going to jump you before you even made it to the car."

"Turns out I slept with her twin when we were here last time."

Henley bursts out laughing. "You didn't recognize her?"

"Not all twins are identical!" he says defensively. "And I did think she was a little familiar…I just didn't remember where from."

She accepts this for what it is (a nonsensical argument from a man who is usually completely and precisely logical) and goes into the bathroom to finish curling her hair. She hears him flick on the television in the main room as she wraps the tips of her auburn strands around her iron's hot barrel.

"So, you don't usually bring back guys then?" he says casually when she comes back with the last of her things. It's a question but he says it like a statement.

Henley is arranging items in her suitcase, and so her hair has fallen over the right side of her face and conveniently shields her expression from view. Nevertheless, she smiles because she knows he will hear it in her voice.

"Sometimes," she says.

He coughs. "Really."

She shakes her hair out of her face and looks at him. "Why, are you interested?"

He immediately chokes, which gives Henley the opportunity to finish zipping up her suitcase without fending off more intrusive questions.

"Let's go," she says cheerfully, and sweeps out the door before he can say anything else.

All the way down six floors and into the hotel lobby, she can feel his gaze burning into the back of her neck. But he doesn't say anything and whenever Henley turns to look at him, he is intently studying at something else.

4.

They perform a show on the night before she turns twenty-four.

It's all the usual tricks; cards and mirrors and a new floating bubble sensation that they just perfected during their last performance – but at the very end, Danny pulls a cake out of a hat and presents it to her. The entire audience cheers and breaks out into "Happy Birthday." (Later, she'll suspect he must have arranged something with the ticketmaster beforehand so that everyone would know.) Henley is so surprised she can only laugh. She blows out the candles and, in the face of flashing camera lights and wolf whistles and thunderous applause, forgets to make a wish.

She finds him in his dressing-room afterwards, shrugging out of his black suit jacket in favor of a navy blazer.

"That was nice, what you did today," she says, leaning against his doorframe.

He easily and studiously avoids her eyes. He acts like he is concentrating on straightening the shoulders of his suit on its hanger, but she knows better. She can tell that he is watching her discreetly, gauging her response. He doesn't know whether she liked it, and he's nervous.

"Well, it's your birthday," he says. "Everyone deserves something nice on their birthday."

"It's not my birthday yet," Henley reminds him. She glances at the clock on the wall. "It's only eleven-thirty. There's still half an hour."

"Do you want me to take back your cake?"

She laughs, surprised. "No. I like my cake." And she does, too. It's a gorgeous little thing, white frosting rounding the edges with delicate black swirls. Probably from a designer bakery. He must have gone out of his way to get it. Henley can imagine him planning this carefully, and with deliberation. Danny never does anything without perfecting every detail.

"Well how about a drink then?" He's facing her now. His eyes are determined and daring.

"A birthday drink?" she says.

"Yeah. My treat."

She allows a smile to grace her features. "Okay."

He takes her to a modern little place with sleek black countertops and skinny, graceful chairs. It's all very Danny. She's amused until he steers her to the bar, where her eyes fall on the back wall: it is a breathtaking mosaic of mismatched blue tile. "Oh," Henley breathes. It's possibly the most beautiful piece of architecture she's ever seen in a bar.

She loves it, and even though she doesn't say anything, she can feel Danny's satisfaction as if it is palpable.

They squander the last half hour before she turns older by knocking back a few shots each and digging into her birthday cake, chick flick movie-style, using only forks. At midnight she pops a bottle of champagne. The whole bar cheers and someone helps her up to the table, where she towers over everyone in her skinny black heels, while a drunken and happy rendition of "Happy Birthday" starts up cheerfully.

Danny helps her back down when the singing is over. His hands, usually so restless, are still on her waist. Henley knows he would catch her anywhere.

They sit down again.

"I didn't get you a present," Danny says eventually. He is twisting his fork between jittery, quick fingers. "I was going to, I just didn't know what you would want."

"You could've gone with jewelry" Henley teases. "All girls like jewelry."

His gaze darts to her bare neck. "You don't wear jewelry that often."

Henley is surprised he noticed. She shouldn't be, though – Danny has always had a keen eye for inconspicuous particulars. One hand drifts up without thinking, to cover her throat. "You're right," she agrees. She quirks an eyebrow. "But I could still appreciate the gesture."

The corner of his mouth lifts, just barely. "Next time."

On a whim, Henley reaches across the table and stills the fork in his hands. "Danny, this was a great surprise tonight. It was a wonderful birthday present." His gaze is so vivid it takes her breath away. She stills her thoughts so that her mouth can form the words with sincerity. "Thank you."

He puts down his fork. The way he looks at her, his eyes dark under the warm orange bar lights, makes her skin warm. They are sitting very close, chairs are turned to face one another. Between them, a few spots of chocolate crumbs dot the table.

She knows what is going to happen a second before it does. He leans in, two fingers falling to press lightly into the back of her neck, and she tips her head up to meet him. His kiss is full of concentration. The focus is so intent that it makes Henley's head spin. She kisses him back, letting him lead. His mouth is restless and persistent and bold all at once, and he tastes like dark chocolate and daring and _Danny_.

When they break for air, Henley's heart is thudding in her ears. He draws back to look at her. Henley knows her expression probably mirrors his: a mixture of surprise and wonder and smug, catlike satisfaction.

"Happy birthday," he says.

His fingers curl around hers.


End file.
